Never underestimate the power of passion
by silverbirch
Summary: Seamus Finnegan, war hero. Now a drunken wreck existing only for a few brief hours when his passion can rule. Passion is an extreme compelling emotion. It also means suffering or agony, as of a martyr. Rate M mainly for language.
1. Chapter 1

_Written for Sharlmalfoy' challenge at __.net/topic/44309/11432159/1/_

_1- Take the first book you see. It doesn't have to be your favourite book. No cheating!_

_2- Open it in page 29 and read the 5th line._

_I picked up Great Expectations by Charles Dickens._

_And he was so very free of __**the wine that he even called for the other bottle, and handed that**__ about with the same liberality, when the first was gone._

_The GUINNESS word is a trademark of Guinness & Co. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling._

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This evening was different to the others, at the end. It started the same as them, though. As soon as darkness fell he would leave his flat to find somewhere that would take him in. It was getting harder as his options narrowed, and he found himself having to head further afield as the weeks passed. And, as the quantity of his money fell, so did the quality of the establishments he visited.

There were few out tonight. The icy wind blew straight up the river from the east, pushing the smell of decay from the mud flats exposed at low water into the streets surrounding the docks. This area had been – not exactly prosperous, but busy, once. The ships had arrived from all over the world, carrying spices from the Orient, tea from India and coffee from Brazil.

Time had moved on, and so had the ships. Now they were larger and berthed further down the river, where the container port unloaded electrical good from Japan and cheap plastics from China. The jobs had gone with the ships, and the wharfs and gantries lay derelict.

There were still pubs, though. Low and bleak they offered warmth and light…and drink. Enough would dull the senses and allow him to get through another night. More than enough and maybe he could even get through the day, until it was time to start out into the gloaming and begin the cycle all over again.

This one looked good enough for him. It was old and untouched. He would not find glass and chrome, cocktails and piped music in here. He pushed open the door, to be met by the familiar and welcoming smells that marked out a real pub; stale beer and tobacco smoke.

The tables were bare wood, as were the chairs and floor. This would do; a "spit and sawdust" pub on the unfashionable side of London's docks. Across the river the wharfs had been redeveloped and smart City financiers lived in converted warehouses, parking their Porches in secured underground accommodation. The docker's houses had become "artisan's cottages" for those who could not afford the grander accommodation, but even these cost more than the people who had once lived in them earned in their entire working lives.

The workers, whose families had lived here for generations, had followed the ships they depended on and now lived in high-rise flats in the new towns further down the estuary. Only the old remained, and Seamus nodded to them as he entered. They still wore the same clothes they had worn when they were young and hale; heavy woollen jackets, flat caps and a white scarf knotted about their throat. They nodded back at him, but didn't speak; this was a pub, not a debating chamber.

He walked to the bar. First he needed to quench his thirst. He was always thirsty to begin with.

'Guinness, please.'

The barman nodded. With that accent it was obvious what he'd order; the Irish drank stout, everybody knew it.

He watched as the dark body of the beer separated from the creamy white head, following the bubbles as they ebbed and flowed in the glass like the river outside the door. He would wait. He would not touch his drink until the movement had ceased. This was the product of his homeland, it's most famous son, and deserved to be treated with respect.

He savoured the taste in his mouth; dark and sweet but with an edge of bitterness. The drink matched his mood and his life these past months. Always sweetness with an edge of bitterness. How he hated himself for what he had become, yet what else could he be? To revel in such misery and draw comfort from such suffering, to keep forcing himself to face the hopelessness of his situation every day…that was why he drank his way to oblivion every night. The only alternative was reality, and he could not face that.

As the glasses emptied and filled to a faster rhythm than the river, so tongues loosened and conversation of a sort filtered through the close atmosphere of the bar. Football, of course. Here it would always be football. He had never watched the game, but had schooled himself in its subtleties enough to join in. Here, especially, he knew the pain would come eventually, a short stab of remembrance and regret. West Ham was located only a few miles away, and some of these people would be supporters wanting to talk about their team.

He remembered the poster put up on the wall that first night. The men in their claret and blue shirts fixed forever on the paper, never moving, and Dean explaining to Ron…

Dean. They had little in common, really, except they were both a long way from home. Their friendship had lasted through everything though, including jealousy and separation, but now he was gone. He had left his home to find out about the father he had never known and there had been no contact since.

He had little contact with any of them, any more, except … No! He would not think about her tonight, or any night. That was why he came out, to stop thinking about her for a few brief hours. He turned back again to the conversation on tactics and formation, and how the team would fare this Saturday.

He needed to keep them talking, remain on mundane matters, and the easiest way to do that was to buy the drinks. They would stay and be his friends whilst he had money. After a few pints he changed his drink, as usual. Beer was too great in volume to have the desired effect, and spirits were too expensive. Wine was a good compromised, so he switched to that. His drinking partners were not averse to joining him; they had tasted wine on their holidays to Spain, and considered it exotic enough to partake of a glass or two.

And he was so very free of the wine that he even called for the other bottle, and handed that about with the same liberality, when the first was gone. As the drink was thrown back, the level of conversation rose, and soon the jokes were being bandied about. He had heard them all a hundred times or more but still laughed and his new friends joined in.

'Are you enjoying the craic, Paddy?' asked one of them in a friendly way.

Seamus knew the role he had to play now. Around here the Irish were of two sorts. The first had just got off the potato boat and was good for a laugh and a drink. The second came at night and left a van full of explosives.

'To be sure, to be sure' Seamus laughed back, racking up the accent a notch.

This was the only time of day he could bear now; that few small hours when the pain could be pushed back and he could forget about everything. He could pretend he was young again, and the world had not changed.

Then the second bottle drained and he stared at his empty glass. His money was gone, but it was not enough. He needed more, so he turned to his drinking partners.

'We need more booze, boys. Who's for getting the next bottle in?'

Eyes shifted towards the clock. Wine was good but more expensive than beer. He'd included too many in his round, and nobody fancied providing for everyone else. The excuses started to flow; it was getting late, work in the morning, the Missus is expecting me back. It always happened; he knew it and he planned for it.

'Will ye not buy me a drink now, lads? I'd heard you Brits were a bunch of pikers, but I'd not believed it.'

It had the desired effect. The men stood and closed ranks.

'If you don't like it over here, Paddy, clear off back to your bog.'

'Where I come from, that's fighting talk. Will you take your punishment like a man?'

Of course they would, but it never amounted to much. Seamus would throw a few punches, and maybe a chair, and then bolt for the door. The adrenaline rush and whiff of danger took him back to when it mattered, to when he mattered.

Tonight it went wrong though. He'd got himself out of position and the crowd were between him and the door. He couldn't get past them, and was well outnumbered.

It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore. He pulled out his wand….


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter already hated night shifts. He was only a few months into his second year of training and at first it had made him feel important to start work when the new first years were heading home. It gave him a thrill to nod to the office workers when they arrived the next morning just as he was heading home to bed, bleary eyed and unshaven. It made him different to them; he wasn't a quill pusher. The novelty soon wore off.

He accepted that he would be working nights for many years to come, simply because criminals didn't keep office hours, so he was stuck with them until the day he rose high enough not to have to do them any more. The Head Auror didn't work nights, even though he was always on call. At least he got to go to bed.

He hated the silence of a night shift in the deserted Ministry of Magic. He hated the shadows and dark corners. There were too many reminders of other occasions when he had been there during the still hours, to find death and destruction waiting for him.

Other than nights, he loved being an auror – albeit a trainee. He loved the new things he was learning, and the fact that here he was nothing different. Of course his tutors knew who he was, but they didn't give him any special treatment because of it.

Fine, he may have defeated the greatest dark wizard the world had ever seen - may get his picture in the papers a lot – but it didn't impress them that much. They were more concerned about an essay not being up to scratch, or him not mastering an advance spell. He was "Trainee Potter" not "The Chosen One".

What Harry hated most about nights, though, was that he was only an observer. So he observed qualified aurors sitting around drinking tea and reading books or playing cards. They'd never had a call out when he was assigned to them.

Even if anything did happen he wouldn't go along, anyway, as he wasn't considered experienced enough to keep himself out of trouble. He was still at the stage, along with the rest of his year, of being a "Lighthouse in the Desert" – bright, but no bloody use to anybody.

That wasn't strictly true; second year trainees were trusted with a kettle, so he could make the tea and hand round the biscuit tin and that was what he doing just before midnight when the door burst open and the Section Officer rushed in, almost making Harry drop the milk bottle.

'Move, lads! We've got a shout down in Rotherhithe; young wizard run amok with his wand! We've got to secure the area so the Obliviators can clean up the mess.'

It was what happened next that surprised everybody.

'Potter, put that bloody bottle down! You're coming with me; grab hold.'

Harry took the outstretched arm offered to him. Although he had passed his apparition test it was standard practise that aurors always travelled in pairs, one taking the other side along. That way they never arrived on their own.

-o0o-

The scene outside the pub was one of total devastation. All the windows had been blown out and people were stumbling around dazed and confused. A casual observer may have noted they were remarkably unharmed though, considering the force of the explosion that must have caused the damage.

The aurors would have to find and apprehend the perpetrator quickly, so that the obliviators could get on with their job of persuading everybody a gas boiler must have blown up. It wasn't hard to spot the person they were looking for; he was still standing there with a wand in his hand, staring at the carnage.

'Seamus?'

'You know him, Potter?'

'Yes, Sir. Seamus Finnegan.'

'Is he one of your lot?'

Harry knew what was meant by that. After the defeat of Voldemort the true story of what had happened to Hogwarts and its pupils passed into legend. Authors like Eldred Worple were quick to rush out books detailing the suffering caused by the Carrows, whose trial had been followed with a morbid interest by the whole wizarding community.

People like Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley, who had stood up to them, became heroes. Anybody who had been a member of Dumbledore's Army was praised and honoured. It did cause problems if they went off the rails, though. The Wizengamot was loathe to prosecute and, if they did, the "Daily Prophet" would run scathing stories with headlines such as "Is this how we thank them?"

Wizards had learnt a new phrase since the war, as some of the youngsters tried – and failed – to come to terms with a world not ruled by fear and death and fighting. It was called Post Traumatic Stress, but soon became known as "Voldemort Syndrome".

'Yes, he was in my year, and fought in the battle.'

'Will he talk to you?'

'He should do; we shared a dorm.'

The Section Officer let out a sigh. 'Just what we need; a bonehead Gryffindor with a danger fetish.' The Section Officer had been in Ravenclaw and had once been dumped for Charlie Weasley. 'Do what you can but don't take risks. We'll be covering you.'

Harry walked slowly forward, his wand held loosely by his side. 'Seamus! Seamus Finnegan? Is that you?'

Seamus turned slowly, and blinked several times as he tried to focus. 'Ah! The blessed Saint Potter has arrived. Must be time for the Grand Finale.'

Harry ignored that; it was obvious Seamus was as drunk as a Lord. He nodded towards the pub. 'Did you do this, Seamus?'

Seamus thought about it for a while. 'Well…you could say that I didn't, 'cos I've never been much of a one for wandless magic, if you take my meaning. So…I suppose we should really blame it on me little stick.'

He held up his wand to show Harry what he meant, and Harry heard a shuffling of feet behind him.

'I'd put that down if I were you, mate; it might be misinterpreted.'

Seamus nodded. 'Ah, you could be right there, Harry, and there's a few of you, isn't there?' He lowered his wand and stood, dully.

'You're going to have to come with us, you know.'

Seamus scratched absently at his cheek. 'I'd do that, Harry, honestly I would. But…the thing is, if I do there'd be no-one to go and see her tomorrow, and that would be a crying shame. So it's probably just best if I get meself off home.'

'Sorry, mate, I can't let you do that?'

'Oh, it's sorry you are, is it? Well feck you, Potter! _Exp…'_

'_Stupify!' _The spell and flash of light came from behind Harry's shoulder and he watched in horror as Seamus was hurled against a wall and slid slowly to the floor, where he lay still.

'You tried, Potter. Well done.'

'Thanks. Sir,'

-o0o-

Seamus slowly came to, and wished he hadn't. Mornings were normally bad, but this was terrible. He tried to find a part of himself that didn't hurt, and gave up. He slowly became aware somebody was sat next to him.

'Harry? What are you doing here?' He looked around, realising he wasn't at home. 'Where the feck am I? Is this your house? Can you not afford wallpaper?'

You're in a cell in the Ministry of Magic.'

'And why would that be?'

'You blew up the pub last night.'

'Are you telling me that now? And why would I be doing that? Was the Guinness off?'

'I'm not joking, Seamus. I've bought you a pepper-up potion and a cup of tea.'

Harry watched as Seamus drank his potion, pulling faces and steaming as it went down.

'Holy Mother, I hate that stuff. Hand us me tea, will you?' He took a great gulp, and sighed in satisfaction. 'That's better.' He ran a hand across his face before looking back to Harry. 'Am I in big trouble?'

Harry shrugged. 'Illegal use of magic. Breaking the statute of secrecy. Then all the other stuff like criminal damage.'

'Will they send me down?'

'I'm not the Wizengamot. What's gone wrong, Seamus? Why did you do it?'

Seamus shrugged and looked away then suddenly cowered back onto the bed, putting his hands over his face. 'Get the feck out of my head, Potter.'

'Sorry, I'm just trying to help.'

'You don't want to know what's in there.'

'Ok, sorry. Look, I've got to go and see somebody; see if I can get you out on bail or something. Do you want me to contact your work?'

'I'm…not working at the moment.' He suddenly looked interested, as if realising what Harry had said. 'Can you get me out this morning, do you think?'

'You got some urgent luncheon appointment?'

'Just do your best, eh?'


	3. Chapter 3

Seamus never realised that it was Harry, rather than the Undersecretary to the Wizangemot, who set most of the bail conditions. He was to reside at Grimmauld Place, and was on a 7pm to 7am curfew. Seamus was ready to accept the terms; he just wanted out as soon as possible.

He was also impressed with the house. 'How many of you live here?'

'Just me…and the House elf.'

Seamus raised his eyebrows. 'Does Hermione know?'

Harry had to laugh at that. 'I had to free him, and then take him on as an employee. She insisted, and you know what she's like when she gets a bee in her bonnet. The job I had persuading him to accept five galleons a week…'

Seamus nodded at the room they were standing in. 'How much did it cost? If you don't mind me asking?'

'I…inherited it. You remember Sirius? It was his.'

Seamus whistled. 'So I'm standing in the noble House of Black?' Harry nodded. 'Should I curtsey? What are your plans for it?'

Harry shrugged and muttered something about it being handy for work.

'Ah, of course. And I don't suppose the future Mrs Potter will object to living in one of the grandest houses in the City either! I'm happy for you, Harry; you deserve some good things.'

'I'm no different to anyone else.'

'I'm not so sure. We got caught up in something we didn't quite understand, but we had options. You never did. Once that prophecy was made and tied to you, you had no choice in the matter.'

'Well…that's the past, anyway. Now, what about you?'

Seamus glanced at the clock. 'I need to go out for a while, if you don't mind.'

'Of course. I suppose you need to go and get your things, don't you?'

'That's right. I'll be back before its dark and I promise I won't go near a pub.'

'Dinner's at 7.30'

-o0o-

Seamus was back by seven. Harry noticed he wasn't carrying anything, but said nothing. That could come later. Part of the reason he wanted Seamus here was that he was convinced something was behind this behaviour and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. If nothing else it would all help the defence case.

'Excellent timing. Drink before we eat?'

Kreacher served them gin and tonics, and Seamus couldn't help but laugh. 'Now I know I'm in England. Chin chin, old chap!'

'Sláinte!'

Harry kept the conversation deliberately light until the soup course had passed, talking mostly about his training as an auror. With the main course he introduced Ron and Hermione into the conversation, along with a bottle of red wine.

'Neville seems to be doing alright for himself, as well. He's up at Hogwarts helping Sprout in Herbology. It wouldn't surprise me if he ends up as a Professor there. Who'd have thought it of him? Oh! Another thing; he's even got himself a _girlfriend_! Remember Hannah Abbot? She was in DA.'

'Yeah, I know; I sometimes see him in…she's a nice girl. I'm happy for him. He's another one who earned a break, what with his parents and having to live with his granny all those years.'

'So, do you see anyone…?' The tone was deliberately casual, a throw away question.

'I've lost touch with most of them. I used to hang around with Dean, and then he tried to find out about his da.'

'Does he know he was killed? Refused to join Voldemort.'

'Yeah, he found that out soon enough. I think it left him a bit…incomplete, so he went off travelling; trying to find out as much about him as he could, where he came from. Searching for his roots, I suppose. He'll come back one day, though; I'm sure of that.'

Seamus took a drink, and automatically re-filled his glass. 'Parvati did the same sort of thing. She went out to India to visit her family and …well, you know how well she got on with Trelawney? She's looking into this whole mysticism thing. I don't know if she'll ever come back; I think she feels more at home out there now than here. I occasionally get updates from Padma.'

Harry stared into his wine. It was a shame he had no veritaserum in the house, but alcohol was good enough and Seamus was starting to slur, just a little. 'What about Lavender?'

Seamus picked up his glass, swirling the liquid round and round. Then he smashed it back onto the table.

'D'you have nothing stronger in the house?'

Harry called for Kreacher and asked him to bring a bottle of whiskey – the Irish. 'You can finish for the evening after that; we'll sort ourselves out.'

'Thank you. Master' said Kreacher, with a low bow. 'Master Finnegan's bed is ready when needed.' He disappeared.

Harry poured a decent measure into Seamus' glass, and watched as it was swallowed. The top up was readily accepted.

'That's where you were this afternoon, weren't you?' Harry's voice was quiet, neutral. It was not an accusation.

'How did you know?'

'You went home for your stuff but came back empty handed. And you wanted to be out by lunchtime. A couple of things you said last night got me thinking, as well. Do you go every day?' Seamus nodded. 'Which is why you can't work.'

'You were born to be an auror, Potter; I'll give you that. I'm the only one who goes regularly. She says you go to see her occasionally. She likes that.'

'I try to get in whenever I'm in St. Mungo's, normally if I'm running messages for one of the aurors who's been injured. It isn't as often as it should be.'

'At least you go. None of the others…not one.'

'They've got other things to do…lives…'

'Yeah, yeah. Time to move on and forget the past. Do you ever talk to the Healers?'

'I know they're having trouble with the wounds not healing properly. Dark magic – it does that. I should try to get in there more often.'

'At least she knows someone cares.'

Harry couldn't think of a response to that one. Instead he said 'But what I don't understand is how this leads to you blowing up a pub.'

'I got drunk.'

'We all do that. What is it, Seamus? There's more to it.'

'I've already told you; you don't want to know what's inside my head.'

'Somebody's got to find out, because you can't handle it.' He refilled their glasses.

Seamus nursed his glass for a long time, battling the demons inside him. Could he honestly tell anyone? Anyone he ever wanted to talk to him again? Maybe he had to take the risk; Harry was right about that. He couldn't take it for much longer. 'When you look at her, what do you think?'

It was Harry's turn to reach for his glass. How could he put it into words?

'It's…I try not to, if I'm going to be honest with you. Yeah, I should be; you need honesty. I try not to see what I'm seeing, but how I remember her.'

'I can understand that. She always was the prettiest girl in the year, wasn't she?'

'I can't deny it.' Harry took some deep breaths and putting his hands over his eyes, as if trying to block the memory from view. He felt ashamed of himself, for what he felt.

'Ron's brother, Bill, he got attacked by Greyback as well; the night Dumbledore was killed. I thought that…we get on fine me and him – I went to his wedding - that it would be the same with her. Bill hasn't changed, not inside he hasn't, so why should Lavender be different? Just because she's a girl? I really thought I could cope with it, but when I remember how she used to be…' He took a drink, welcoming the burning spirit on his throat. 'It shouldn't make a difference, should it? Is that why you have to get drunk, afterwards?'

'No. I've got a worse problem, and it makes me the biggest bastard who ever walked the planet.'

Seamus slumped forward onto the table, putting his arms over his head as though trying to block out everything the world had thrown at him. His pain and anguish radiated across the room and Harry reached out a hand.

'Tell me.'

Seamus lifted his head, and Harry saw eyes that had looked into the pits of hell.

'I'm glad it happened' Seamus whispered, trying to deny the words to himself as he spoke them, though he knew they were true

Harry could only stare in horror as the bile rose in his throat.


	4. Chapter 4

'I'm glad it happened.'

'But…no, Seamus. Nobody in their right mind can think that. How can you be glad for her?'

Seamus reached for the bottle, pouring the remnants into his glass. His laugh was searing, sarcastic.

'I'm not glad for her, you fecking eejit! I'm glad for **me**.'

'You? But…? You? Why?'

'BECAUSE I LOVE HER! God, Harry, I've loved the girl since…since I don't know. Third year, maybe…the Yule Ball, I don't know. This has always been about me; what I want, what I care about.' He drank deeply.

'Yeah, it's about me. The poor wee girl got herself ripped to shreds and all I can be is glad it happened because it might give me what I want. Do you hate me yet, Potter? Do you hate me as much as I hate myself? I don't think so. There, you've found out what's inside my head. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? Are you as happy as I am yet?'

Seamus collapsed back onto the table, spilling his drink. Harry watched as the amber liquid oozed across the table, pausing at the edge to gather itself before dripping onto the wood flooring. The light glinted off each drop as it fell towards its inevitable fate. Drip, drip, drip and the tortured rasp of Seamus' breath were the only sounds in the room.

Harry's emotions were being ripped to shreds by the conflict he was experiencing inside. That love could cause such pain, such suffering. This was not what he had known. He loved Ginny, and that love had brought such joy and light to his life. For the first time ever he felt whole and complete. He had somebody who cared about him, and he cared for her back. When she was in his arms he felt he had a reason to exist.

Even his mother had not suffered like this for love. She had given her life to save him, but had loved herself because of her love for her child. Her love had been whole and unconditional. No, this was something he could not experience. Could anybody? Could love cause such passion? Harry wasn't sure he could describe Seamus' feelings as love. Love meant caring, love meant not wanting anything bad to happen to the one you loved. Didn't it?

Harry didn't really know what he felt towards Seamus. Part of him wanted to lash out, to draw his wand and send curses flying across the table. That surely was what he deserved. All of Seamus' feelings were bad ones; selfishness and greed. Weren't they?

Dudley was selfish and greedy. He delighted in the pain and suffering of others. But Seamus didn't. He was broken, destroyed. That realisation came to Harry, and he knew then that he was seeing love. Not love as he recognised it, but love as pure and honest as his own for Ginny. He may not know what Seamus was experiencing, but he could help. He could share the pain.

He moved to Seamus' side, taking him in his arms in the same way he held Teddy Lupin when he cried, rocking his friend in his arms and leaning his head against his hair. 'Seamus, Seamus…' What else could he say? Anything else would have been wrong. He could not sympathise, nor agree. He could not argue, for how can one say that such thoughts are wrong?

There was no wrong or right just pain, and as a friend he could do something about that.

They sat, for hours, like that. Seamus cried out his emotions and lay quietly in Harry's arms.

'Do you…remember in our fifth year? It was just before exams and La…her and Parvati had practising levitation charms on their pencil cases? We were all in the Common Room. They were racing them round the table.'

'I wasn't paying that much attention; Hermione had nearly just broken my nose.'

Seamus wasn't really listening. 'I can remember everything about it. I was repeating Substantive Charms and Dean was helping me.' He sighed deeply.

'She was wearing jeans, they were quite faded, and they had a little hole just above the left knee. You could just see her leg through it. And she had a plain white T-shirt on. It was round necked and just plain white, no decoration at all. And her hair was down, but one of those band things over the top. Red, it was. A dark red, and she had gold stud earrings. The thing I remember most, though, was that one of her trainer laces was undone. She had her legs tucked underneath her and the lace was draped across the floor. Towards me. The right one. She'd picked the little bit of stuff off the end and all the lace was frayed. She did that to all her laces.

She looked happy that night. You remember how the two of them were together? Always laughing and joking. Every time they made their cases do something she'd laugh, and maybe flick her hair around. I loved watching her laugh. She had this little chip on one of her teeth, the one next to the canine. She never got it fixed.'

'You should have suggested it to her.'

'I couldn't. It was only a tiny wee thing you'd never notice, unless you was looking real close, like. She got it some time in fourth year. That was the night I knew I loved her, and there'd never be anyone else. If I ever met anyone, I knew I'd compare them to her that night and they wouldn't match her. They couldn't match her.'

'You…you never went out with her though, did you?'

'No, except for the ball. I never asked her again.'

'Why not? I never saw her with a boy, even going into Hogsmeade. She always went with Parvati.'

Seamus extricated himself from Harry's arms and sat up, wiping his face with his hands.

'Where I come from we've got this saying. "You can take the man from the bog, but you can't take the bog from the man." And that's all I ever be, Harry. Then man from the bog in the back of beyond. Look at me, look at her. She was so beautiful and so perfect, and there's me with a head like a spud. What chance would I ever stand?'

'I know the answer to this already, but why don't you leave? Get away and put some space between yourselves?'

Seamus shook his head. 'It's too late. I probably couldn't have left anyway. Just being near her is better than nothing at all and now...I couldn't do it to her. I'm nothing at all, but I'm all she's got. There's only me there for her. So I'll pretend I'm just her friend until she's strong enough, then we'll see. One day at a time, one day. As long as I can see her tomorrow, I'll stay around.'

Harry quickly passed on the first thing he was going to say. He tried another tack.

'I told you about Bill Weasley, yeah? He married that Fleur, the French girl who was in the Tri-Wizard. She came over here to work at Gringott's, and Bill got off with her.'

'She was a pretty girl.'

'Yeah. Did you know she's part Veela? Her Gran, or something. He couldn't believe his luck, to start with. You know what he did?'

'No.'

'He talked to her. Nobody else would, because they all thought she was out of their league. So he did. Reckoned the worst thing that could happen was she'd tell him to piss off, or whatever they say in French. But she didn't.' Harry sighed. 'I suppose just having the guts to say something was enough to impress her.'

'He was a curse breaker, wasn't he? Ron went out to Egypt that time to see him; it was in the paper.'

'Yeah. He's got a desk job now. Reckons having a family is excitement enough.'

'So, he had a bit of something about him to start with. Curse breaker; that's a job you can boast about. Bit like being an auror. Out of work doesn't have quite the same ring to it.'

Once again, Harry had to hold his tongue. He was going to point out that Ginny had fancied him when he was nothing. But he'd always been something, even then. The Boy Who Lived. That wasn't something to bring up at this stage. Seamus was, in his own mind, at rock bottom. He needed something that was him, not a comparison to somebody else.

'You know, "hero" isn't a bad thing to start your CV with.'

'Me? I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

'You told me yourself you had options. You could have gone home, lived as a muggle. You chose to stay. You were there when I wasn't.'

Seamus shrugged. 'The Irish have never been great ones for walking away from a fight.'

'Even when the odds are stacked against them?'

'Especially then.'

Seamus didn't realise what he'd said, but Harry picked up on it. That was the chink in the armour he needed, but not just yet.

'Let's get you to bed, mate. It's been a long day.'

'Harry, I want to thank you, just for being here. I know there's nothing you can do, but…thanks anyhow.'

It took Harry a long time to get to sleep that night. He needed help on this one, but wasn't sure who he could ask. For once he thought Hermione probably wasn't the answer. Apart from anything else, there was a confidence he couldn't betray.

Then it came to him. The answer was obvious, as the best ones always are. He would have to involve Lavender. He would have to go and see her. The thought did not make it any easier to fall asleep. He hoped he wouldn't dream tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN - I didn't abandon it; it just got misplaced. I hope you can still keep track of what's happening_.

* * *

St Mungo's never changed. The same dummy still stood in the dusty shop window, beckoning people through, and the same witches stood at reception - always slightly too overworked to show as much concern as they should. But even they stopped when HE walked through. Harry waved aside their offers of help. He knew where he was going and took the stairs to the first floor, not needing the signs directing him to the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Creature-Induced Injuries. That was where Lavender Brown had ended up, after her other injuries had been treated.

He wasn't supposed to be here at this time, not really, as the hospital didn't encourage visitors before lunch. That was when the housekeeping and treatments were done, and the consultant Healers made their rounds. But Harry knew that even the most hardened Healer could be softened if she received a roguish smile from The Harry Potter. They thought it was wonderful that he never forgot his friends and still came to visit "that poor girl in bed 10" even as they were looking at his picture in The Daily Prophet being the guest of honour somewhere. For him the rules could be relaxed. It was just a shame they couldn't do something about the other one who turned up every day, reeking of drink. Still, he was Irish.

Harry wished they wouldn't let him in so easily. He hated this place, and hated coming here. Nothing he had seen or encountered during the war compared to the horrors that had continued long after Voldemort's body had been disposed of and his ashes scattered in secret. Victory should not be like this.

He scratched on the curtains that surrounded bed 10 and heard a rasping voice say 'Come in'. Taking a deep breath he steeled himself and stepped through them.

'Hi, Lavender.'

-o0o-

Lavender Brown had spent the early months of her treatment often wishing that they hadn't tried so hard to save her. Those thoughts were less common now but she still had them. Some days were worse than others. Special dates and anniversaries were the worst of all.

The last Saturday in October, for example. That was when the first Hogsmeade visit took place. She'd always looked forward to that; she and Parvati would spend hours looking in the dress shops and trying things on.

Christmas when she would always get new clothes from her parents.

January and the sales starting a few days before she had to return to school.

Summer when she could top up her tan and allow the sun to lighten her hair even more.

Yes she sometimes wished she was dead, rather than being here and missing out. Then she felt guilty, because so many people had done so much to make sure she was still alive. The people who had worked over her for hours in the Hospital Wing, for example, when there were so many others who had needed attention.

Madame Pomfrey had been overwhelmed that night. Madame Pince had tried to help, along with some of the older girls, but they could only do very basic things. Eventually Pomfrey had to introduce a basic triage system. Those who were in no immediate danger of death were left in a corridor to await whatever fate befell them, depending on the outcome of the battle raging around the school. She gave them some boxes of bandages and bottles of murtlap and dittany and told them to get on with it.

The seriously injured were brought inside, to be left on the floor when all the beds were full. Pomfrey had known she could not cope with the numbers but dreaded going to the next level, when those who could not be saved would simply be left to die. It had been bad enough walking past one of her students to deal with a wounded Death Eater but she was a Healer, not a judge, so had done it.

Lavender had been carried in, unrecognisable, soon after midnight and the initial diagnosis said she would not see the dawn. She had multiple broken bones, massive internal and external bleeding, hex damage - and what looked suspiciously like bite marks. Pomfrey tried to ignore them, but she shuddered and wondered if death may not be a better option. The girl was so young and may have been pretty, once. To have that happen to her…

But, Pomfrey had done what she could. The wounds were cleaned, treated and bandaged; blood replenishing potion was given. That was all there was time for. New casualties were arriving and the future was in the lap of the gods.

Somehow, for some reason, Lavender had held on, though hardly alive. She had not heard the roar as dawn broke, nor the news delivered to the Hospital Wing a few minutes later that Voldemort lay dead in the Great Hall. She was not aware of the flaring in the fireplace as Healers started arriving from St Mungo's, eventually allowing Pomfrey to collapse into an exhausted sleep that lasted 24 hours.

Lavender had been one of the last evacuated from the school; her condition being considered too fragile to travel by floo. Instead she had lain there for three days until the Hogwarts Express could be adapted to a hospital train. She had travelled back to London with the other seriously injured and was transferred from King's Cross in the back of a muggle van, so as not to attract attention. That had been twenty months ago.

The Healers had dealt with the superficial wounds quickly enough. They, too, had noticed the bite marks and on the first full moon after her arrival Lavender had been wheeled, still in her bed, to a secure room. Then the Healers had locked the door and waited. Nothing happened; she had not been infected. But the bites and other Dark Wounds had not responded to anything they had tried so far. It was a great shame. She was so young and they thought she must have been pretty, once. It was six months before they let her look in a mirror.

-o0o-

'You came to see me!' The voice was very quiet and the diction not great. Lavender had learned the hard way to minimise all her movements, lest they open up wounds that would bleed for days.

He swallowed hard, and tried to make his smile as natural as possible. 'Well, I've not been here for a while, so I thought I should check you hadn't run out on me.'

Lavender gave the short hisses that he recognised as her laugh. He sat in the chair next to her bed, surreptitiously angling it so that he was looking down her body rather than at her face - or what was left of it. She noticed, of course. Everyone did that, apart from one.

'How have you been?'

What should she tell him? Today was not a good day. Seamus had come in yesterday, as usual, but he seemed distracted. Lavender couldn't blame him. It must get tiring coming in constantly, as he had been. And for what? He seemed to think he had some kind of duty towards her, which was strange. They'd never been particularly close at school. He'd invited her to the Yule Ball, but nothing had come of it and he didn't ask her out again.

Maybe it was something to do to keep him occupied until he found a job. She wondered how hard he was trying, and suspected it wasn't very. She thought that it might help if he cut back on the drinking. He always smelled of it, and that wasn't going to impress an employer. It was hard to tell him what she thought though. If nothing else he was somebody to talk to and if she started laying down the law he might stop coming. She didn't want that as she looked forward to his visits, mostly. Nobody else came, any more, apart from Harry occasionally.

Lavender wasn't one to hold a grudge, and she understood why Parvati had left. They'd had a tearful last meeting over a year ago, Parvati saying she'd stay if Lavender wanted her to. Lavender had told her not to be silly; that she had a life to lead. Parvati was quite good at writing and Lavender treasured the cards and letters though she could tell from the tone that her friend was never coming back.

Dean had been less upsetting. They had been in the same House, but never close. She'd known he would drift away eventually. What was there to make him stay?

Neville. She had grown much closer to Neville in that last year but he had enough on his plate. Lavender had spent almost a month on the fourth floor whilst some of the spell damage had been treated. Every patient soon became blind to the double doors at the far end. The big fear was that you'd end up behind them. It had surprised her the first time she'd seen Neville going in there. All that time and he'd never mentioned it. He still popped in to see her occasionally, on a Sunday afternoon, but she knew that he'd had enough of hospitals by the time he got to her. She often pretended she was tired so that he had an excuse to leave.

As for Ron…well, it was hardly surprising he didn't come in. Lavender may have been a bit of an airhead, once, but she wasn't totally superficial. It did strike her as ironic, though, that her first and only - and probably last - boyfriend hadn't exactly been "catch of the day". Hermione probably wouldn't like it, either, and there was no reason for her to visit. They'd never been particularly close friends, even before their conflict.

She saw her parents on occasions - she saw her dad. Her mum got too upset, so Lavender told her to stay away. The final straw had been her mother's pathetic "You don't know how hard all this is for me…". Lavender's response had caused so many wounds to open up it took the Healers a week to bring the bleeding under control. She'd told them twice not to bother before realising they weren't listening to her.

So, that was it - the sum total of her social circle, with the key member an old school chum drinking himself to an early grave for a reason she couldn't fathom out. It was a pity, really. Had things been different, if she could have met him on a daily basis in different circumstances, maybe they could have grown close. Maybe he would have even grown to fancying her and got round to asking her out again. She'd seen past the outside to the person he was - could be - underneath. He wasn't so bad; he could be a charmer if he wanted. Fine, he was no great looker, but who was she to throw that at anyone these days? Not that it made any difference. Lavender knew that her options in that direction were zero, unless she happened to meet somebody blind, perhaps. Not for her the fairytale courtship and marriage, the children and house and loving husband. Her best bet, if she ever got out of here, was a place well out of the way where she could live out the rest of her existence as unseen as possible. She already had her epitaph written. "Was that it?"

'Same old. Two steps forward, two steps back.'

'I know. It'll take time, Lavender. Lots of it.'

'Yes. So what brings you here today? One of your auror friends done something stupid?'

'Aurors are always doing stupid things; it seems to be a qualification for the job. There are a couple of people I could look in on, whilst I'm here, but it is you I've come to see.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. I don't just come in when there's another reason.'

'I didn't mean that. I like seeing you, Harry.'

'I know. No, I came here today specifically to see you.'

'I'm still alive; I suppose that's good news.'

'I won't even pretend to understand what you're going through. Umm…I wanted to talk to you about, well…Seamus. He comes to see you a lot, doesn't he?'

'Yes, every day. I don't know why.'

'How do think he's, you know, coping…with things?'

'About as well as me. He needs a job, that's the problem. Well, one of them. Have you seen him recently?'

'Yes. Yeah, I have.'

'Do you know he's drinking a lot?'

'Yeah. Look, that's how I came to meet up with him again.'

Lavender gave another hissing laugh. 'In a pub, I suppose?'

'Outside it, as it happens. I…helped arrested him for blowing it up.'

'What?' Lavender automatically tried to jerk herself upright and then grimaced as the pain shot through her. 'Shit!'

Harry could see the blood starting to seep through the sheets and panicked, calling for the Healers. Three of them rushed over, stripping the clothes from the bed. One of them turned to him.

'I'm sorry, Mr Potter, we're going to have to ask you to leave.'

He cursed himself all the way out of the hospital. 'That was a bloody good start. Merlin, Potter, if this is your definition of helping then stay away.'


	6. Chapter 6

Seamus had finished breakfast and was reading "The Prophet" by the time Harry got back to Grimmauld Place. He looked up as Harry walked in. 'You were up early this morning. Is your head as thick as mine?'

'No, I didn't drink as much as you.'

Seamus looked rather embarrassed. 'Listen, mate…last night…I'm sorry about…well, you know…'

'No problem.'

'Thanks. I wouldn't want you to think I was going a bit…'

'Of course not. And when I…gave you a …I was just…'

'Yeah. Yeah, of course.'

There was an uncomfortable silence for a while.

'Harry? Thanks.'

'Forget it; nothing to thank me for.'

Harry coughed, a clear sign he thought they should change the subject. Neither of them were comfortable with having emotions that openly exposed. Men didn't do that, did they? Especially not men who had fought and been Gryffindors. Harry had this suddenly vision of what Malfoy would have said if he saw them - or even Fred and George. It wouldn't have been easily lived down.

'Anyway' said Harry, briskly. 'Look, I had to go to St. Mungo's this morning; one of our guys ended up in there - again.' He rolled his eyes rather unconvincingly. 'So I thought I might as well pop in and see Lavender, as I was there.'

Seamus immediately went on alert. 'Holy Mother! You didn't say anything to her, did you? About me?'

'Of course not! I wouldn't, honest. The thing is, I didn't get the chance anyway - not that I would. Look, what I'm trying to say is it might be an idea if you don't visit today. I didn't get a chance to talk to her because some of the wounds have, sort of…opened. A bit. They were treating her, so I had to…they wouldn't let me see her.'

Seamus buried his face in his hands. 'Ah Jeez. That poor wee girl. It happens all the time, you know? Can't they do anything for her? There must be something. D'you think there's an expert somewhere? Couldn't we get him over here to treat her?'

Harry sat next to Seamus, and had to stop himself putting his arm around his shoulder again. 'Mate, I think if there's an expert anywhere in the world they'll already be in St. Mungo's. She wasn't the only one Greyback…'

Seamus leapt up. 'Don't say that bastard's name in front of me. God, I wish I could have killed him with me own hands.'

Harry stood as well and spread his hands in apology. 'I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking.'

Seamus took a deep breath and nodded. 'Yeah, I know, I'm sorry too. You shouldn't be scared of a name. It just gets me the bastard got the easy way out.'

'Too many of them did. I think Neville feels the same way about Lestrange. He's never really forgiven Molly Weasley, you know. Come and sit down again. I think talking might be good for you, and I'll watch what I say.'

Seamus sat 'Sorry.' He gave a rather embarrassed laugh. 'I seem to be saying that a lot, don't I?'

'It's a tough time for all of us. Speaking of which, I suppose we'd better start thinking about what happens next.' Seamus looked quizzical. 'You're still on bail; they haven't forgotten and certainly haven't forgiven.'

'It always looks different when I'm sober.'

'I know, but being drunk isn't going to be much of a defence.'

'I haven't got any money; I can't get meself a lawyer.'

'We can get round that one. I'll call in a favour.' Harry didn't mention that the favour would be any bills being settled from his account at Gringott's; he had more than enough money to cover it. He hadn't broadcast the fact that, with both the Potter and Black inheritances to his name, he was one of the richest wizards in Britain.

'Thanks. D'you think they'll send me down? I don't care about that, so much, but its Lavender I worry about.'

'Look, I don't think the Wizengemot are out for trouble. You aren't the first one to go in front of them and what you did at hogwarts will stand you in good stead. Especially as you've got the mitigation…'

'Mitigation?'

Harry sat down next to him. 'You're going to have to tell them…about Lavender.'

'I can't drag her into it.'

'I don't think you've got any choice. It isn't just what you went through that caused this; the worry since with her - and the guilt; its all part of the problem. You have to tell them.'

'It'll look like I'm hiding behind her skirts.'

'Exactly the opposite.' Harry scratched his cheek. 'I didn't tell you the truth, just now. I was in St Mungo's to see Lavender.' He held his hands up. 'I didn't tell her what we talked about. I did tell her you were in trouble, though. That's what sort of …caused the problem. I'm sorry.'

Seamus shook his head. 'I don't blame you. It's me again, isn't it? If I hadn't been stupid you wouldn't have gone in and she wouldn't be…maybe you're right. Maybe it would be best for everyone if I cleared off..'

'No' said Harry, considering his words, 'I don't think it would. She likes you coming in. I think you might be the only one giving her hope. Anyway, going on the run wouldn't help you.' Should he say it? 'I think this is about helping you first, then moving on.' Another pause. 'Look, she knows you're drinking, and she doesn't like it. I think she wants you to stop, and get yourself sorted out.'

'She said that?'

'She said you needed to get a job.' He didn't bother adding "and a life".

'But, if I got a job…'

'You're no good to her knutless and pissed all the time. Seamus, this is down to you, now. You care about her, and I think you're probably the only one who does - in a way. I'm no expert but maybe you two need each other, certainly at the moment.'

'She doesn't need me. She's got the Healers looking after her.'

'You want her to stay there for the rest of her life?'

'Of course not.'

'Well then…'

'Where do we go from here? Have you got a plan?'

'Not really, but it's never stopped me in the past.'

-o0o-

Seamus didn't go to St Mungo's that day. He knew the Healers would be working to try and close up the wounds that had opened on Lavender's body. The problem was that the skin simply wouldn't knit together so that it could start healing. The ones on her arms and legs were basically held shut by bandages, which stopped the edges flopping open. The gashes on her body were harder to hold shut and it tended to be these that caused the problems.

He had tried to find out what treatments were being used, and what the long term situation would be but the Healers were loathe to talk to him as he was not family. They barely tolerated him coming onto the ward, truth be told. When Seamus went up to bed that night, he could start to understand why.

It was the first night he had gone to bed sober in a long time, and the face that stared back at him from the bathroom mirror was starting to show the effects. He could see the red, puffy eyes and the flab that was starting to form around his jowls.

Seamus had always been comfortably built but, when he took his shirt off, it was now clearly worse than that. He'd probably put on three or four stone since the end of the war. The first one might have been needed, as there had not been unlimited food in the Room of Requirements and they'd missed a few meals before they went in there anyway. He looked at the fat starting to spread across his belly and over his hips and chest. He'd never had much of a six-pack, but it now resembled a small barrel.

He'd let himself go, and no mistake. He could do something about that, given time, and there were things he could do immediately as well. Tomorrow he would have his hair cut, and be able to shave himself with a steady hand perhaps. It would be a start. He'd go into the hospital not smelling of booze, either.

He rubbed his hand across his lips. He'd had just a gin and tonic before dinner, and one glass of wine with it. He wanted more. He needed more. He had a big day ahead of him tomorrow. He'd have to go to the hospital and talk to Lavender, tell her what he was thinking. Not straight out, obviously, but maybe make a start on preparing the ground. Then he'd have to start working on his defence for the trial, possibly go and see the lawyer that Harry knew.

It would be a tough day; he needed a decent night's sleep. A glass of whiskey or two - maybe three would be better - would help him sleep. He was half way down the stairs when he stopped. The face in the mirror floated before his eyes. The face of a drunk. He'd seen them before, as a child. The men staggering home from the pub every night. Labourers and the like whose lives revolved around earning enough money to get drunk.

No, that wasn't him. He wasn't an alchie, not like they were. He'd never turn to the home made potato whiskey - they called it pocheen - they drank when work was slack. No, he just wanted a couple of drinks to calm him down. Harry only had good stuff in the house, proper Irish; it was like mother's milk to Seamus and wouldn't hurt him.

He took another step. It wasn't as if he needed a drink. He didn't need it, he just wanted it. A glass of the good stuff, no harm in that. If he didn't need it, did he really want it? Maybe it would be better to do without, just for tonight. Tomorrow, when he'd talked to Lavender and seen the lawyer, then he could have a drink.

Fine. He'd do that. He just have one glass - a small one as a nightcap, then go to sleep. He was happy now he'd made his decision and went down to the dining room. He smiled at his worries; they seemed so stupid now. Him, a piss artist?

-o0o-

Harry came down the next morning to find Seamus sprawled half on the sofa, the half empty bottle held in his arms like a baby, or a child's cuddly toy. The emptied bottle lay on the floor.

Harry cursed himself. He should have seen this coming; he'd been bloody stupid. He knew Seamus was drinking, but he hadn't realised just how bad it had become. He thought his friend had had a real reason for wanting to block out everything. Seamus did, of course, at the start. But now the reason had been lost behind the necessity. Seamus was drinking because he had to. Seamus was an alcoholic.

Harry was lost. He'd never experienced anything like this before. He enjoyed a drink himself, and had got drunk a few times, just like anyone else. That was different, though. Working nights was bad enough without hangovers to contend with, and he never drank at home unless he had guests.

Harry headed for the kitchen to make up a pepper-up potion, shaking his head. One more problem to add to the list.


End file.
